When I was fifteen years old my father died, I'd love to say that I was sad, upset- but if I did, it would be a lie.

My father was a mystery to me, my mother would tell me tales of him when they were both young and in love; about how he was incredibly handsome and charming. She would talk about how in love he was with her, that he left because he had to, she would always be sure to mention how much he loved me.

It was a lie though.

I'm not saying that I knew for sure that my father didn't love me, I just knew that he didn't particularly care about me. The man never even met me after all, as soon as my mother told him she was pregnant, he packed up his bag and left (according to my grandmother.) never to be heard of again, no letters, no phonecalls. Nothing.

My dad was a mystery to me, one that I had no interest in solving.

Little did I know that my father's past was the key to my future.

Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the story of the very first pubescent female wolf.